


someone granted me reprieval.

by redhoods



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, episode 72 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 20:04:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20031568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: He’s levelling for another step, to move out of the deeper packed snow closer to the edge of the bank when he sees it.Something glinting on the frozen surface of the lake, not fifteen feet from him.Nott and Fjord and their curiosity must be rubbing off on him because he takes a step before he thinks about it. One step, then the next onto the frozen lake. He trusts it to hold him, after how much it had taken for him to fire bolt a hole into the surface.





	someone granted me reprieval.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in a fury of inspiration, i did not reread it or anything so there's probably a slew of mistakes. i'm hard pressed to care about them.
> 
> title from overburdened by disturbed.

It should not be so simple to disregard floating, following spirits, Caleb thinks, but he thinks he’s allowed his distractions. Especially since their drifting audience is far more interested in listening to Jester read _The Salty Sea_, than apparently doing any of them any harm.

_Tusk Love_ remains behind for now and Caleb’s far from embarrassed from having been the one to hand over their new smut book. Beau keeps shooting him weird looks and he knows she’s trying to determine when he swiped it from her and how she never noticed. Maybe he’ll be able to find something more suitable to her tastes in Uthidern.

He’ll think about it later, when he can drag his focus off of Fjord for more than a few seconds.

The half orc has been quiet, understandably so as they walk, keeping more to himself, though Caleb’s aware of the painstaking way he’s been walking as if to make sure he doesn’t drift too far from the group, while not actually being with the group.

It’s a strange dance that Caleb is far too familiar with and if he’s been too obvious in keeping pace with Fjord, no one has called him out on it yet.

He knows why he’s watching so hard, even if he wants to pretend he doesn’t. 

He’s waiting.

Waiting for some outward sign, some obvious manifestation of the fact that Fjord has.. well, he’s practically told Uk’otoa to fuck right off and Caleb has never claimed to be an optimistic man. Quite the opposite, so he’s keeping an eye out.

He can’t imagine Uk’otoa will simply let Fjord go, just like that.

Caleb steps into a patch of snow that’s deceptively deep, sinking himself into a bit of a hole. It draws Fjord to a stop as well, though he doesn’t call for the others.

“Need help?”

It’s strange. Caleb had heard him in his own voice before, more than the others even, but to hear it so much, so many words, it’s simply going to take time for him to adjust. Actually, he might prefer this, this glimpse at who Fjord is, rather than who he thought he should be. He shakes his head, “I’m fine, danke,” and lifts his foot from the hole to take his next step.

Trudging through snow is not an unfamiliar experience for him, though he’s not mentioned that outright to the group. Beau probably knows, she has to have some idea of where the Zemni Fields are.

He’s levelling for another step, to move out of the deeper packed snow closer to the edge of the bank when he sees it.

Something glinting on the frozen surface of the lake, not fifteen feet from him.

Nott and Fjord and their curiosity must be rubbing off on him because he takes a step before he thinks about it. One step, then the next onto the frozen lake. He trusts it to hold him, after how much it had taken for him to fire bolt a hole into the surface.

“Caleb? What are you doing?” Fjord calls from behind him and his pitch rises in his concern, now moreso than before. His voice is higher, more proper, clipped almost, compared to his adopted slow drawl.

He doesn’t think he’s heard Fjord say his name in this voice before and something about it settles against his spine. The shape is still glinting in the mist so he takes another careful step, “There’s something there, on the surface,” he says over his shoulder.

“Caleb! What the fuck!” Beau’s voice echoes across the surface of the ice and Caleb can see more figures out of the corner of his eyes. None of them seem to be coming closer to the object though.

His curiosity ratchets and he flips Beau off over his shoulder.

She makes an aggrieved shout and Caleb thinks he hears her lay into Fjord.

Maybe.

His focus tunnels a little, sound like he’s in thick honey when the mist parts and he sees what had been glinting off the light.

Innocuous and impossible, the falchion is there, a quarter of the blade wedged into the thick ice. It looks the same as it had, as far as he can tell, though he’s never paid much attention to it up close. The eye is still in the hilt, open and accusing him.

Dread curls in his stomach and war rages in his mind in fractions of seconds.

“I’m fine,” he calls towards the direction he’d come from, hoping to keep any of the others from following him and hoping to delay having to make a decision.

In the end, he thinks he couldn’t carry another secret and wraps his hand around the hilt. It’s warm to the touch and pulls free easily from the ice, like it’s only been there for a matter of seconds. He wonders if that’s true.

It’s heavier than he expects it to be and he feels awkward as he holds it, taking careful steps back towards where he’d come from.

The others’ voices come back and Beau is the first person he sees, standing on the ice itself at the edge of the bank. She opens her mouth, probably to yell at him, sees what he’s carrying, and immediately shuts her mouth again.

“Caleb?” Nott is just behind Beau he realizes and she lifts her gaze from eyeing the ice critically, sees the falchion and actually, properly hisses at the sight of it.

“What was that?” Jester comes sloshing through the snow, flinging it in every direction. “Oh no,” she says, as soon as she sees the blade, her hands coming up to her mouth and her gaze casting in the direction that Fjord must be.

“Is everything okay?” Fjord’s voice doesn’t carry like this and he doesn’t raise it to be heard either.

Beau snorts and Caleb accepts the hand she wraps around the bicep, the two of them climbing back up the bank, both of them sliding a little in the snow. Jester reaches out and grabs Beau by the front of her shirt though, yanking them both up.

It’s an ungraceful stumble and there’s not a chance for Caleb to prepare himself, because he simply knocks right into Fjord’s chest.

The falchion slips from his cold fingers and lands in the snow, the eye accusingly staring up at the both of them.

Fjord doesn’t notice actually, both of his wide palms around Caleb’s biceps, “Have you lost your mind?”

Caleb drags his gaze up, just as Fjord drops his.

The fingers around his arm tighten, the pressure enough to bruise probably.

“What’s going - oh,” Caduceus stops only five feet from them, his own gaze on the weapon between Fjord and Caleb’s feet, slowly melting the snow around it. “Fjord-”

Fjord yanks away suddenly and the sound that leaves him Caleb will never be able to unhear, the anguished shout that he levels at the sky, before he stalks away, leaving the blade there in the snow. His boots crunch heavily through the snow and the spirits even seem to know to give him berth as he goes.

No one moves for too many seconds, then Caleb forces himself to.

He steps over the blade and follows in the deep gouges Fjord’s boots have left through the snow.

At least, there is that. It makes tracking Fjord easy, makes it very hard for him to take off and leave them all behind. It’s a new fear he has, cold and terrible in the recesses of his mind. That Fjord will simply walk away and none of them will know how to bring him back.

It’s his own fault that that fear exists and he knows it.

“Fjord,” he says, when he finds him, several yards off through the trees. 

He’s leaned against one of them, shoulders hunched in, like he’s trying to make himself small enough to disappear. 

Caleb doesn’t think it’s possible, Fjord’s always seemed so broad, large in his mind, his presence taking up so much space. Even now, it’s that way to him, though he’s not sure how to express that thought to Fjord without it being a repeat of their first conversation in Rosohna.

Fjord doesn’t respond, doesn’t seem to react.

This isn’t the sort of thing that he’d ever count himself as good at it, but Caleb thinks he’s gotten better at comforting people. He’s not even sure where to start here and takes the steps to close the distance, “Fjord,” he says again, and touches Fjord’s shoulder.

Under his hand, Fjord’s muscles flex, body shifting as he rolls his shoulders back, like he’s preparing to stretch himself tall, proud, pretend like everything’s okay.

It’s a familiar charade.

He doesn’t, instead his shoulders quake and he crumples in again, “Caleb.” His voice is a barely there croak already.

Caleb makes a split second decision and slides his hand sideways, hooks his fingers around the back piece of Fjord’s breastplate and tugs once, hard. It takes Fjord off guard enough that he stumbles and twists, preparing to brace himself from his fall.

There is no fall, he ends up smacking into Caleb’s front.

“Easy,” Caleb says softly and curls his other arm around Fjord’s shoulders, determined now and unprepared to let Fjord pull away just yet.

Fjord doesn’t struggle though and Caleb isn’t sure if the thought hadn’t occurred to him or if it had and he’d dismissed it. Instead, Fjord wraps around him in return, arms around his back, clinging to him as his shoulders shake.

There’s no sound from Fjord, even as he trembles.

Caleb can’t remember ever seeing someone hug Fjord, willing or not, compared to the number of hugs he himself has been squished into. He squeezes his arms around Fjord’s shoulders, “I made a promise to you once,” he says gently.

Someone comes up behind them, though he’s not sure who. Fjord doesn’t seem to notice, so Caleb doesn’t loosen his grip, “We said that we were going to make it work, ja?” He’s not expecting an answer, but Fjord’s arms tighten around him like affirmation, “We will make this work too. Whatever you choose.”

At the edges of his vision, he sees Beau, skirting around them. He nods at her and her shoulders loosen.

“If you wish, I could burn another hole through the ice, you can throw it in the lake,” he offers. “We’ll throw it back as many times as you want.”

Against his shoulder, Fjord nods.

They stay like that for a while, minutes dragging together, and thankfully, Fjord is a pillar of warmth at his front, otherwise Caleb thinks he might’ve lost feeling in most of his body. Beau edges away after the first few minutes, shooting him a janky salute as she goes by, hopefully to let the others know they’re okay.

Fjord eases back around the eight almost nine minute mark, face a little ruddy and dump, though he starts scrubbing at it immediately with his hands. “Ah, thank you for that,” and Caleb nearly sags in relief, hearing that new but not tone.

He’d half been expecting Fjord to revert back and he’s glad that he hasn’t.

“I care about you, Fjord,” he says carefully, eyeing the smudge of Fjord’s eyelashes against his cheeks, gold eyes downcast for the moment, “I know I haven’t done my best at showing that, but I do and I don’t just mean with regards to my own goals.”

The words don’t actually seem to take Fjord off guard as he scrubs at his face again and then nods, once, then twice, though the second seems to be more confirmation to himself. “I do as well,” he says, then scrunches his eyebrows, “Care about you, that is.” His gaze is solemn, serious, when he turns.

Their eyes meet and Caleb swallows, nods, “We should rejoin the others.”

Fjord doesn’t make to move at first, his hand reaching and ends up hovering in the air between them, though he seems confused, like he hadn’t really meant to do it. The scar on his palm stands out stark in the watery daylight drifting between the tree branches, “I--”

Caleb reaches out, takes his hand and links their fingers together, scar tissue scraping together as he squeezes.

Color rises in Fjord’s face, his cheeks turning brackish as he nods, just one quick dip of his chin, and he doesn’t let go as they trudge back through the snow.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @vowofenmity on twitter.


End file.
